


tremble to win the hand

by meerminne



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Id Fic, Libraries, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Not Beta Read, Podcasts that don't actually exist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-17 08:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8137553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meerminne/pseuds/meerminne
Summary: A few weeks later he slides his shiny new library card across a dingy table at a dive and slurs, “I’m gonna - I’m gonna be a Friend of the Library. That’s a thing. I’m not even thirty. I thought you would have to be like, not 26 for that. They didn't even check my ID!”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is an ongoing id fic of the id-iest nature. growing up in new england i have a LOT of feelings about america's sweetheart, john jack eichel.
> 
> i also have a lot of feelings about the scarlet letter so, uh, prepare for that?
> 
> Teen+ for foulmouthed-ness, rating will likely go up in later chapters.

He fully acknowledges that it’s a stupid thing to get upset about. As a rational adult, he totally understands that this should be a funny coincidence and not make his blood boil. But - it does, is the thing. And, _and_ , the stupidest thing that Jack’s mad about is that he’s even mad about it. He has the internet, he has an iPad, and amazon, and the Apple store - he doesn’t _need_ to get books from the library.

He wants to support the public library, and now it’s become a matter of principle.

“Shit out of luck again?” Noah shouts from the kitchen in greeting. Jack tellingly doesn’t answer. Noah snorts when Jack kicks his shoes off, two thuds against the cold floor.

“It’s a matter of principle, Hanifin,” Jack manages to say through a clenched jaw, rounding the corner and leaning against the doorway to their kitchen. Noah’s making tea, shirtless, with one sock on and Jack’s sweatpants hanging off his skinny ass.

“It’s a matter of principle,” Noah mimics. Jack huffs and peruses his options for supper, digging through the cupboard. “Seriously dude, does it bother you that much?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jack responds, squeezing a box of cereal so hard the bag pops.

“What was it this week? Something about sad Russians again?” Jack snorts derisively.

“It’s Murakami, you uncultured,” Jack pauses to stuff a handful of Lucky Charms in his mouth, “swine.” Noah starts telling him about some trending story on facebook about a puppy with a prosthetic leg and they both move to the living room and sink into the couch, a spring digging through the olive upholstery into Jack’s thigh. He ignores it. Shabby chic, roadside trash; tomato, potato. Something like that.

 

 

Jack has a boring ass data entry job at the police station, it’s whatever. There’s him and Marty, a mid-30s guy who has seven pictures of his newborn baby on his desk, and Jack has tried not to be weird about it but the baby is _cute_ and wearing tiny baby-sized hockey jerseys. There is only so much a person can take, you know? They haul boxes of old files from the depths of the records room, most of the yellowing paper older than them, and enter all the information into databases. They have minimal supervision and are sequestered in an unused office away from anything interesting.

He listens to a lot of podcasts, is what he’s saying. Marty listens to audiobooks about ways to be successful or Pearl Jam, banging out drum solos on the desk with his fingers.

And via a weird series of slightly aggressive interactions on facebook with a guy he had in an econ class in college he stumbles upon _Your English Teacher Was Wrong_ , a weekly podcast where the hosts go through a bottle of wine and each week they talk about one of the books teenagers have had to slog through in high school. It’s an interesting look into how and why the books are chosen for classrooms and where the breakdown between page and student is that makes most of the students _hate_ the book.

Like _The_ fucking _Scarlet Letter_. What bullshit is that? Mrs. Pearson completely drilled the symbolism into their heads in 10th grade without allowing for any discussion about women’s sexuality (I know, right? Like what the fuck), religion, or social class. She brutally assassinated Hester and Dimmesdale in front of Jack and his classmates, standing at the front of the room and droning on about the symbolic nature of things and Hawthorne’s New England roots, and blah blah _blah_.

And so, like most young Americans matriculated through the public school system, Jack has gone most of his adult life thinking he disliked a lot more books than he actually does. He rereads _Great Expectations_ and it’s, you know, surprisingly not awful. Listening to the hosts of the podcast, Barry and Lianne, get tipsy and talk about wedding cakes is a lot more engaging than Mrs. Pearson prattle on in nasal tones with her wellborn Cambridge accent.

Around the 30th episode they expanded into newer books, having English teachers as guests, plying them with wine and asking them about modern teaching. They have a couple of librarians on and it’s eye opening - Jack doesn’t even have a library card. The librarians talk about how it’s one of the few remaining institutions where all classes are welcome, where no one is angling for your wallet. He hasn’t been to a library since he graduated college and even then he’d only frequented the campus libraries. He has to google where the nearest branch even is.

A few weeks later he slides his shiny new library card across a dingy table at a dive and slurs, “I’m gonna - I’m gonna be a friend of the library. That’s a _thing_. I’m not even thirty. I thought you would have to be like, not 26 for that. They didn’t even check my ID!”

So he aggressively patrons the small library every week, braving the creaky narrow wooden steps to the fiction section and returning home with a friends of the library tote full of books.

Never the one the podcast is reading. Nope.

Because some book thieving jerk gets there before him every. single. week.

 

 

For some reason it’s _A Separate Peace_ missing from it’s place on the shelf that sets him off. Judy behind the circulation desk smirks and shakes her head at him when he futilely asks if they have it in, and he has to _do something_. Judy won’t tell him who the person is, or what time they come in. The podcast announces what book they’re reading every Monday on twitter and Jack can’t make it to the library until 4:15 at the earliest, if he jogs. He’s thought about putting in for a day off so he can get there right as the library opens and wait until the book is announced, but that’s… probably a bit much.

So, the Monday they announce _A Separate Peace_ he sits down at one of the round wooden tables, logs into the library’s wifi, and starts furiously composing an email on his phone.

 

 

Barry and Lianne,

First, I’d like to say I love the podcast! I look forward to it every week. The tangent a few weeks back where Lianne went off about reading the descriptions of food in _Game of Thrones_ when you’re hungry really hit me hard, you know? The _Redwall_ series may be even worse.

Second, I’d like to say that I have procured a copy of _A Separate Peace_. I really would - the wikipedia article promises some homoerotic undertones. But that would be an outright lie. Some asshole in my neighborhood keeps checking out the books before me. Every week, right on schedule. _A Tale of Two Cities_ \- you’d think they’d have more than one copy, honestly. _Flowers for Algernon_ \- I’m not actually that upset about, that shit is depressing.

It’s been six books. Six _weeks_.

I know I could go to another branch, or download a copy, or whatever. But it’s the principle of the thing.

If you end up reading this in the mailbag segment - I know you’re listening, asshole. I have your fuckin’ number.

_\- Irate in Boston_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still not beta'd so good luck, godspeed.

 

“If I had one week to live, I would read  _ A Separate Peace _ ; it would make each day an eternity.*" Jack flings an arm over his eyes, setting his iPad on his chest. “Although I’d rather die than keep reading this to be honest.” He’s only 50 pages in.

Noah makes a noise of disinterested encouragement and Jack can’t muster any indignation - his body and mind are exhausted from this  _ drivel _ . If Gene and Finny  _ were  _ fucking and the entire summer in docile New Hampshire a metaphor for like, exploring your sexuality, maybe it would be tolerable.

But it isn’t and he’s going to pout about it for a while and ruminate about how awful his life is while he makes some tea. There’s been a handful of books in th2e year he’s been listening to the podcast that stayed firmly in the ‘terrible’ category. He’s surprised at how many books weren’t on reading lists in his high school or college that Hanny had to read - he has a lot of feelings about Sylvia Plath, apparently.

Get Hanny drunk and mention you don’t like _ The Bell Jar _ once and see how that goes for you. The next morning as Jack had quietly groaned to himself, blue sheets tangled around his waist, trying to make sure his brain wouldn’t fall out if he moved, Hanny had opened Jack’s bedroom door and thrown a worn, broken-spined copy of  _ The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath _ at him.

“If you say anything about what’s in the margins I will end you.”

He flipped through the pages, corners dog-eared and ripped. Hanny’s cramped handwriting is familiar, comforting in it’s looping Gs and hooked As. Jack hugged the book to his chest and resigned himself to crying into a bottle of whisky at least once in his future.

  
  


Finny dies.

The podcast forums are full of people who _ like the book _ . People that identify with this awful example of Bildungsroman. Jack questions every choice he’s made that has lead to this moment.

“What the fuck,” he whispers to himself at the kitchen table the morning after he finishes the book, a cold and bright Sunday. The episode should be posted later in the day and he’s almost dreading it. He’s staring out the little window next to the table at the small stripe of snow-lined street he can see between the gauzy off-white curtains Hanny’s mom had taken out of storage and demanded they put up. There’s a faded gingham table cloth under his mug of tea and iPad, the last page of  _ A Separate Peace _ on the screen.

He feels the crushing weight of being an adult, all at once, and that’s how Hanny finds him when he comes home from work. Hanny joins him at their rickety kitchen table and puts the kettle on instead of microwaving two mugs of water, and that’s why Jack appreciates him.

  
  


Jack’s always been a fast reader. Devouring the pulp Westerns his dad would leave strewn around the house, bundled up in scratchy wool blankets on snow days with his nose buried in a book and his mind in another world. During the first few months of reading along with the podcast he’d fallen behind, not always finished or read the book at all. Fifty-two books a year is a number that felt hefty with a full time job, going to the gym, and being an amazing person.

He isn’t sure when he started thinking about reading as a chore. Probably around sophomore year at BU, and while he occasionally pick up a bestseller it hadn’t been a hobby, something he’d go to for enjoyment.

And now he feels a sense of - of pride at finishing such a shit book and living to tell the tale. He listens to a lot of Mumford and Sons to get the taste out of his mouth, replaced with banjos. A jangling banjo soothes the soul, or something.

He sees the new episode pop up on his notifications.

“Noah!” he yells through the narrow doorway. Hanny’s bedroom is catty corner to the kitchen, their apartment an afterthought of sharp angles and small windows. “What the fuck do you want for dinner?”

They bump into each other while cooking, hips and elbows and asses. It’s a small kitchen. He hooks his iPad up to tiny little speakers Hanny stole from his dorm mate in college five years ago. Aside from the hissing of the radiator and Jack voicing his reservations about Hanny’s risotto making skills they’re quiet, the hosts of  _ Your Teacher Was Wrong _ and a guest drinking their way through the tale of Gene and Finny. The guest has many of the same feelings as Jack.

He still thinks John Knowles prose might just rub him the wrong way. See also: John Steinbeck.

  
  


They don’t read his letter, but the risotto is really good. Hanny hums between bites, fork scraping the plate.

He’s going to cut a motherfucker if the book is checked out at the library tomorrow - he’s taking a long lunch break to walk over and Martha can just go fuck herself and the entire collected works of Shakespeare if she thinks Jack is walking out of there without a copy of whatever book gets announced.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A beautiful, beautiful comment found on goodreads


End file.
